


Corona

by gnostic_heretic



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Apologies, Complicated Relationships, Epistolary, Flash Forward, Gen, Internal Conflict, Letters, Loosely Historical, M/M, Pining, Post-Break Up, tw for toxic past relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 09:03:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18443363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnostic_heretic/pseuds/gnostic_heretic
Summary: Heartbreak had washed away, and now only regret remained.





	Corona

**Author's Note:**

> The poem that Tolys translated, here, is "Corona" by Paul Celan, which is where the title also comes from. I tried to do an English translation of it myself by looking at the original German and an Italian translation. I hope I didn't mess up- poems are hard to translate- the erased parts are supposed to be corrections/changes of mind and not to be read with the rest!  
> There are also like three verses of my favorite poem ever, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, by T.S. Eliot. 
> 
> Enjoy the read!

_ April 25th, 1889 _

 

I am writing to you with the same letters and words that you and your people forbid me to use, the same words that get stuck at the end of my throat whenever you speak to me, whenever I’m expected to answer your questions.

I hope you will not find it distasteful, or an affront, but I know you will. Would you toss this aside, if I don’t write my name on it? Would you notice it came from me at all? I hope that one day, you will find this letter again, hidden inside this book, and know what it says. I hope that one day you will finally understand the sound of my voice. 

I have spent these few days away from you, and the court, in anguish. The atmosphere around me grows tense: my people speak harshly of your government, of you, here in Vilnius. Their words of discontent grow louder each day, despite the silence you imposed on them.

I know that my duty is to hush these whispers: but when the whispers sound more like a pained scream… I cannot help but sympathise with their pain. You forbid me to speak our language; yet the only thing that speaks of you, like you, is this book you gave me.

* * *

  
  


_ July 15th, 1904 _

There is still a part of me that craves your songs, not the  _ lieder  _ that your sisters force on you, not the ones you sing along to the sound of the  _ gramophone  _ that France brought here for you. I miss the simple songs, the ones that only you and I could hear in the ballroom after everyone left. 

You heard my fingers stumble on the piano as the music got faster, but your voice never wavered. But I saw that your hands were shaking, too. 

And there is, I have to admit, a part of me that yearns for your touch. What would it become of me, if I let you touch me? Almost touch, a missed touch… what would it feel like, if your hands brushed against mine? Would they stop shaking?

And would mine?

 

One day, maybe, I can teach you one of my songs, or play them on the _gramophone_ , and we will dance.

* * *

  
  


_ December, 1956 _

I’ve never been good with words, but writing them down always comes easier to me. I still hesitate to write to you in this language that feels so familiar, even when my gut says it’s not. Maybe it’s the fact that you can understand that troubles me. Did you ever find my other letters, any of them?

 

When I look at your annotations on this book, it’s funny how our handwritings look so similar! Natalya is the one who taught me how to write in cursive, but her letters are so angular, and her hand so heavy, like a plow on the autumn fields.  

 

Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you. I really enjoyed the poems: which one was your favorite? I would love to know that. 

It’s cold outside, and I kind of miss our talks in front of the fireplace. I hope we can speak again soon, sometime… 

* * *

  
  


_ 1957 _

 

I tried to translate it myself, my favorite one, at least.

I wonder what you think.

 

> _ On my hand, autumn nibbles at its own leaf: we are friends. _
> 
> _ We shell time from the nuts and teach it how to walk: _
> 
> _ Time turns back to the shell.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ In the mirror, it is Sunday, _
> 
> _ In dreams there is ~~rest~~ slumber, _
> 
> _ The mouth speaks truth. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ My eye descends to the sex of my beloved; _
> 
> _ We are looking at each other.  _ _  
>  _ _ We speak to each other of darkness,  _
> 
> _ We love each other like poppy and ~~memory~~ recollection, _
> 
> _ We sleep like wine in the ~~mussels oysters mussels~~ seashells,  _
> 
> _ Like the sea in the blood ray of the moon.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ We stand by the window, embraced,  _
> 
> _ From the street they can see us.  _
> 
> _ It is time for them to know! _
> 
> _ It is time that the stone resolved to bloom,  _
> 
> _ That unrest had a beating heart. _
> 
> _ It is time it were time. _
> 
> _ It is time.  _

 

-Tolvydas L.

* * *

 

 

_ October 1st, 1970 _

 

When will I be allowed to go home, Ivan? When will you finally let me go?

I am tired of this. I am tired of the same walls of the same corridors the same hall the same paintings portraits photographs staring at me every day.

I need to rest, I need to rest. 

I’m tired of the chatter I hear every day, I’m tired of useless talk I’m tired of politics, I’m tired of working for you, I’m tired.

It’s about time. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The waves crash violently against the harsh cliffs of the coastline. There is something aggressive about the roar of the sea, something that has always made Ivan nervous. When he lived in  _ Leningrad _ ,  _ no _ , in Saint Petersburg, he could always hear the faint sound of it from his bedroom’s windows. 

 

The water is dark, wine-red, restless. 

_ The sea in the blood ray of the moon.  _

 

“I found your letters a while ago.”

Lithuania nods, he is silent. 

The wind blows his hair, his curls burn like fire in the sunset. Auburn as the autumn leaves. 

“I wanted to apologize… I’m sorry for the things I’ve said to you. For the things I have done… especially for the things other people have done, just because I told them to. I know that we left off on bad terms, no, on horrible terms, Lithuania. And I hate that.”

“Is this why you invited me on this vacation?”

Ivan fidgets nervously. His lips tremble, and his voice comes out broken. “Yes. Did you already… did you expect it?”

“Kind of, yes.”

 

 

_ If your hands brushed against mine, would they stop shaking?  _

_ No, they wouldn’t.  _

 

 

The first time  _ Tolya  _ held his hand, a silly gesture, really, to help him pick up a broken glass-- his heart felt like it was going to burst like a bomb, his blood was on fire, and his hands… they shook so badly that they made his whole body shiver. 

 

 

Can he call him “Tolya”, now? 

How could he dare?

 

> _ Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl. _
> 
> _ And should I then presume? _
> 
> _ And how should I begin? _

 

Random moments, infinite fragments of shattered memories flood his mind. 

They collapse, they overflow. 

 

 

“We have grown so old.”

Lithuania scoffs at him. “We have always been old.”

“I suppose you aren’t wrong,” Ivan says, but he wrinkles his nose, he feels like that’s not right. 

 

_ We are centuries and centuries old, but I was a boy once, looking at you in childlike wonder. I was so young and stupid when I refused to understand why you couldn’t stay with me, and love me like I loved you. _

 

Heartbreak had washed away, and now only regret remained.

 

* * *

 

“Ivan, you are shaking…” 

 

Lithuania takes his hand into his--  _ it’s like the first time, all over again, it’s like--- _

 

“Are you cold? It’s getting chilly. We should go back to the hotel.”

Ivan’s heart ties a heavy knot in his lungs. It stops his blood flow, it weakens his voice to a whisper. “Mhm. That’s a good idea.”

 

Lithuania holds his hand all the way, he keeps him warm.

The wind is like razor blades cutting at his skin, but Ivan doesn’t mind.

Tolys gets a bowl of hot soup for both of them, and the taste of beets is familiar, it’s reassuring. Ivan can see the moon from the window: it’s so thin tonight, a sickle in the night sky.

_You reap what you sow_ , he thinks, out of nowhere.

The soup has gotten cold now, but it still warms his heart.  

 

“I don’t know if I am ready to accept your apology yet. Is that still ok?”

“Of course, Lithuania. It’s ok-- even if you’re not ready yet, or if you don’t want to, or if you just can’t do it.”

“Thank you.” 

Lithuania smiles. How long has it been, since he has last seen him smile? Ivan wonders. 

“Also, there’s no need for formalities. Just use my name.”

 

He recalls Tolys’ name, signed in cursive, latin, on a letter he wrote, in russian, on the only letter he signed. He can’t remember what the poem’s title was, nor the name of the writer-- Tolvydas, Tolvydas, that he can remember.

 

“Thank you, Tolys.”

  
  
  
  


> _ It is time that the stone resolved to bloom,  _
> 
> _ That unrest had a beating heart. _
> 
> _ It is time it were time. _
> 
> _ It is time.  _

**Author's Note:**

> \---- PLEASE READ BEFORE YOU COMMENT ----  
> Hi. This is indeed, another RusLiet (sort of? not really?) fic. Since those don't tend to be received very well, I will explain something briefly:  
> 1\. I am NOT romanticizing toxic relationships. I purposefully left out the details here about what Russia did in the past: it is NOT however the scars-on-the-back part of canon, which I find stupid and insulting for the characterization of both Russia and Lithuania. I have a different headcanon for that, that I can explain if anyone really wants to know. His problem is more about letting go of a relationship that ended; accepting the fact that Lithuania didn't reciprocate with the same love he felt, just a short but intense infatuation; realizing that maybe, just maybe, the power dynamic between the two of them (boss and subordinate) was not the healthiest thing, and that he gave in to psychological manipulation in a desperate attempt to keep him by his side. THE WHOLE POINT is that he did something wrong, and he knows it. People grow, and learn, and he accepts Lithuania's decision not to forgive him. If I romanticized this, I would have written a sex scene or a happy re-start of a relationship, which I am not doing.  
> 2\. This is very personal and I won't go into details, but... I was, when I was younger, emotionally manipulated in a previous personal relationship I had. To put it mildly, it sucked. It left me with thought patterns and anxieties I deal with to this day.  
> So when I write about these things, I know where the victim stands. And I am not, in any way, excusing those things, or saying that Russia is a good person, a better person, a person you have to sympathize with-- unless you wish to see a sympathetic side, really, it's up to you.  
> 3\. If this fanfiction made you feel bad: I am sorry, and you should do what you need to take care of yourself... but it is not my responsibility. There is no explicit description here, and there is a warning in the tags (that doesn't fit any archive warnings, but I put it there anyway). If you decided to click on it, you are in a way signing an implicit agreement not to bother me with "YOU ARE THE WORST MOST TOXIC PERSON IN THIS FANDOM HOW DARE YOU SHIP RUSLIET" anon asks, and to not write spiteful re-adaptations of this fanfiction. 
> 
> There are, dear readers, ways and ways to "ship" something.  
> "Ship" does not mean: I condone everything, I romanticize everything. It just means, yeah, I can picture those two characters as having been romantically involved, and I want to explore where that could take them. REAL relationships, in the REAL world, are more complicated than 100% good always.  
> Sometimes, relationships are bad, and you can explore the characters getting out of said relationship as a cathartic form of writing. Sometimes, we catch feelings for the wrong person, and then realize it was a really bad idea, and it's ok to want to explore that.  
> Writing something =/= thinking that what you just wrote represents a moral, good, wholesome situation.
> 
> Thank you for reading this. It sucks that I even have to put a disclaimer on this that looks even longer than the fic itself, but alas...  
> That said, feedback is super appreciated as always, and I thank in advance everyone who read so far and left a kudo or a comment!


End file.
